


His regard

by janescott



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, First Time, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will goes to Hannibal's for dinner. Uhm. Sex happens. Will is not eaten. Will is in a weird headspace. So, there's cannibalism because it's always people but dinner isn't described in any way. But it's always people, so.</p>
<p>This is just porn with a fucked-up dynamic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His regard

**Author's Note:**

> So, okay, I've only watched four episodes of Hannibal so far, but I've fallen pretty hard. Like. Really really really hard. I guess it takes place sometime after Coquilles.
> 
> Thanks to magenta for the beta, and to her friend for making me watch Hannibal in the first place. ;p

Will believes that his dogs are what will eventually save him from himself.

If, that is, it’s not too late for him to be saved. Most days, Will’s not sure. He has a lot of ugly inside his head; a lot of blood and gore, that feels like it will never wash away, no matter how often he tries, or how many sad strays he rescues.

He tells himself that it’s either him taking them in, or living feral and dying in the woods, and yes, there’s an element of truth to that, but he could just as easily (or not as easily) take them into the nearest animal shelter and hope for the best.

Will doesn’t even know what “hoping for the best” means any more, so he brings the dogs home, and hopes that one day, the trust he sees in their eyes outweighs the demons he has inside his mind.

He tells himself that Jack cares about the demons; that he sees how close Will truly is to the edge of a complete breakdown, but he also knows that Jack will use him and use him and use him until there’s nothing of Will left, and only the blood and gore in his head, and his dogs whose trust he hasn’t earned yet.

(And that _kills_ him every time - his dogs have been exposed to the worst, most base of human behaviour; have been shown that they’re disposable, but they still look at Will like he’s responsible for the sun rising every day.)

On balance, Will prefers his dogs to every other human being he’s ever met, including himself.

He doesn’t explain this to anyone; try and justify it; it’s something that’s _his_ and he hangs on to it with all his might because he truly believes the last of what makes him human resides in his dogs.

Hannibal gets it, somehow; Will can’t guess how. He’s too distracted by the strange push-and-pull of their interactions to puzzle too deeply into it. Hannibal only asks him about his dogs once, and it makes Will nervous, his eyes flickering all over Hannibal’s office till he’s dizzy, that he can only be relieved when Hannibal tailors their sessions to the cases Will is working on.

Will feels the cautious ease of something like trust when this happens. Like there’s a part of him that’s …. safe is the wrong word, always the wrong word with Hannibal, nothing about their interactions makes Will feel _safe_ … it’s more that, if the end of the world was really near, Hannibal is the person Will wants to be standing behind.

He watches Hannibal ease back into his overlarge leather chair, crossing his legs, his hands at ease on the armrests. Unconsciously, Will leans forward, countering Hannibal’s relaxed body language, biting down on his lip when he realises what he’s doing. He’s too … strung to sit back though, barely restraining himself from leaping up from the chair and pacing around Hannibal’s office.

Hannibal says nothing for a long moment, and Will can feel his eyes; can feel them on his skin like a touch, like Hannibal’s gaze is enough to strip away layers of his skin.

He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and tries to focus his eyes on the knot of Hannibal’s tie, concentrating on not letting them flicker away, but still unable to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“How have you been sleeping, Will? After the last case that Jack had you working on.”

Will grimaces, unable to stop the twist of his mouth and lets out a sigh. He clenches his jaw and rubs his hands together, like that can get rid of the after-image of blood and organs on them.

“I … haven’t been,” he says, risking a quick glance at Hannibal’s face, before dropping his eyes.

“At all?”

And that’s. That’s the thing Will thinks he - trusts is still the wrong word, but the thing in Hannibal that he can - tap into, that he can respond to. Hannibal just … asks. He doesn’t judge, or offer Will advice. He asks; he offers support and suggestions; he’s just … there.

Will rubs at his eyes, sighing at the grittiness. “I, well, I mean, a little? I guess? But it feels like I’m not sleeping at all. I’ve stopped, uh, sleepwalking anyway.”

Hannibal says nothing again, merely nods. Will always comes away from these … sessions? That’s slightly wrong, too, because Hannibal’s not his therapist, not exactly, but he comes away always, feeling oddly a little more human, even though some days all Hannibal offers is a few questions, a couple of insights. Whatever he’s doing for Will, though, it’s working, and Will appreciates the tiny pockets of peace it offers.

“It’s getting late, Will, and it’s a long drive home for you. Would you care to join me for dinner? Unless, of course, you have plans.”

Will pushes himself up out of the chair, already shaking his head. 

“No - my plans were to feed the dogs and heat up a can of something.”

Hannibal stands up then, and Will has to steel himself not to shift, because Hannibal just _looms_ over him, and there have been times in his muddy, distant past where a man that much larger than him has had his pulse racing and even now he has to resist the urge to wipe his hands on his pants.

“Are you quite all right Will? You look a little flushed.”

Will feels a dry chuckle force it’s way out of his throat and oh, he’s not going to go there with Hannibal. Not right now, not ever probably, given their present, what? Friendship? That will have to do.

Will has crossed and re-crossed many lines in his life, but he’s not so far gone that he’ll let Hannibal in on the fantasies where he’s just pinned down and - 

“I’m uh, fine. Little warm, I guess. Uhm. Dinner sounds - good.”

Hannibal smiles, and steps back, letting Will go before him out of the door and down to the street.

He drives to Hannibal’s on autopilot, deliberately trying not to think of anything. He parks, and pauses, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying, and almost succeeding in blocking out a slew of unwelcome memories. 

If he lets them in, they’ll get caught in the stew of his mind now, and be stained red and gray beyond repair.

Dinner is … soothing and Will feels his shoulders un-knot under Hannibal’s attentiveness that’s somehow heady without being overwhelming. Will wants to ask him how he does that, but he forgoes conversation in order to enjoy the food, which is, as always at Hannibal’s table, excellent.

“Are you enjoying your dinner, Will?”

Will nods, swallowing hard and laughing slightly. “Yes, thank you. It’s delicious.”

Hannibal smiles again, and it reaches his eyes, but somehow it doesn’t warm them and Will has to suppress a shiver that he stores away to analyse later.

“I like to dine with friends, when I can. What is all this bounty for, if not to share?”

“Well. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Hannibal nods, and starts methodically clearing the table. Will goes to help, but is waved off.

“Go and sit down, Will. You look like you are about to drop. I will bring in coffee, if you would like, and then … I have a proposition to put to you.”

Will blinks, and feels himself flushing again. “I, um, all right?”

“Go on into the living room. I will join you shortly.”

Will just nods, feeling his pulse speed up, and surely that’s not what Hannibal means … they’re - friends? colleagues? There’s a line, Will thinks as he makes himself as comfortable as he’s able to on the sofa. There’s a _line_.

He’s still telling himself that, clutching on to the bottom of the sofa, when Hannibal sits down beside him, too close, he's right inside Will's space, and Will tenses again under his regard.

“Will.” Hannibal is too close, right inside Will’s space, but Will can’t move, he feels like he’s been cemented to the sofa and that’s just - his brain stops, just _stops_ when he feels a hand on the back of his neck. 

Hannibal doesn’t do anything else, like he’s waiting for Will to get used to his touch. Will sits very still, breathing in, breathing out. He can get up, if he wants to. He can leave, drive home, he can still get away; Hannibal’s giving him that option.

Will doesn’t move, except to curve his neck down slightly and let out a long, long sigh.

“Come, Will,” Hannibal says softly and Will nods, following Hannibal silently to his bedroom.

This is the proposition, and Will knows he won’t get anything more or less out of Hannibal than that.

He tells himself he can still leave, if he wants to.

Instead, he strips, his fingers shaking, under Hannibal’s steady, cold but somehow hungry gaze. Hannibal watches, tracking the movements of Will’s hands, but not moving, not saying anything until Will is nothing but bare skin and damage before him.

Last of all, Will fumbles his glasses off, and puts them on the nightstand.

“Good. Now lie down Will. On your stomach. Good.”

Will hoards the slight words of praise like warm coals as he does as Hannibal bids, resting his hands flat under the pillow.

He closes his eyes, letting the ambient noise of Hannibal moving around the room seep into his skin. He’s not hard, not yet, but he’s about halfway there, and he knows it won’t take much more than another word of praise, or a light touch and he’ll be gone; and falling.

Right now, Will can’t bring himself to care. He’ll worry about it later, when he’s driving home, when Hannibal’s not stroking down his back with his big, warm hands.

Will sighs into the pillow and shifts, trying not to rut down into the mattress as Hannibal’s frustratingly light touch brings him to full hardness.

“Relax, Will. Just relax.”

Will manages to nod, and he has to clutch at the sheets when he feels the cool slick of Hannibal’s fingers against his hole.

He bites his lip and arches his back as Hannibal slides one in, then two and ..

“Ah -”

He digs his fingers into the mattress, and he’s so hard, god he hasn’t been this hard in years - he pushes back on to his knees, but stops when he feels Hannibal’s free hand on his back.

Hannibal pushes his fingers in again and all Will can do now is breathe and clutch at the sheets that he’s twisting out of shape.

Will bites his lip on a deep groan as Hannibal adds a third, slick finger and presses up and in until he’s pressing against Will’s prostate. Will rocks back against it, the pressure not quite enough, he needs - 

“Will.” It’s just his name, just a word in the gathering dark of Hannibal’s room, but it’s enough for Will to go absolutely still as Hannibal withdraws his fingers. Will bites back another groan, feeling his lips grow hot under his teeth.

He breathes, he breathes; in and out and in and out and then - Hannibal is back, one hand steady on Will’s hip as he uses the other to push steadily into Will.

It burns, and it kind of hurts, but the pressure is steady so that all Will has to do is breathe through it. He closes his eyes as Hannibal starts fucking into him with a steady, relentless pace. 

He wants to reach down, touch himself, relieve _some_ of the pressure that’s building in the base of his spine but Hannibal’s not letting up, his fingers now digging hard into Will’s hips and it should be weird that Hannibal is completely silent, but it’s somehow not as strange as it should be.

Will grips the sheets tighter and tighter, feeling the hot coil of his orgasm build and build as Hannibal fucks into him, harder and faster and - he groans out loud when Hannibal bites down ruthlessly on the meat of his neck, his fingers digging hard into Will’s hips, and Will’s coming; hard and untouched, his own hands nearly numb from gripping the sheets so hard.

He hears a harsh exhale against the back of his neck, which stings from the imprint of Hannibal’s teeth then Hannibal goes still, and he’s so deep inside Will, that Will feels as though he’s going to choke as Hannibal comes, his breath still hot on Will’s skin.

Will’s a mess, he’s sweating and he’s not sure there isn’t come in his _hair_ , but there’s nothing he can do except collapse when Hannibal carefully pulls out and lets go of his hips.

He drifts, for a while, hearing doors open and shut; the sound of running water.

When Hannibal comes back, he’s wearing a tidily knotted robe over pyjamas and it should be ridiculous, but nothing about Hannibal is ridiculous.

Hannibal touches Will again, briefly, on the back of his neck. “Your clothes are in the bathroom, with a towel, if you wish to take a shower.”

WIll blinks, and sighs, as he feels everything - the job, his life, his memories, the blood - sink back under his skin. He rolls his shoulders and well, yes, he’s not carrying the same burden there as he was, so, that’s something.

“I - thank you,” he says quietly, not quite trusting his own voice yet.

Hannibal smiles that odd, cold smile again and says, “I will prepare some coffee. I assume that you will be wanting to return home? Although you may of course stay the night, if you wish. The guest room is always made up.”

“I, uh, no, I mean, thank you - I’d better get home.”

“Of course.”

Will drags himself to sitting and watches Hannibal leave the room.

He pushes a hand through his hair and shuffles off the bed, heading to the en suite bathroom.. His clothes are neatly folded on a chair, and there are towels hanging on a heated rail.

Will tunes the water to his preference and stands under the spray for a good ten minutes, willing his mind to white out. 

He doesn’t ask himself what just happened; he doesn’t believe he needs to.

What he needs to do, is get dressed, take Hannibal’s coffee, and get back to his dogs so he knows he’s still - at heart - human.

He takes his leave of Hannibal, strong coffee slightly warring with the after-effects of a strong orgasm, but he assures Hannibal that yes, he’s all right to drive.

Hannibal smiles again, holding out his hand. Will blinks and has to bite back a laugh as he shakes it, feeling awkward.

“Good night, Will. I hope that you are able to find some rest. I also hope that we are able to have dinner together again soon.”

Will has no response to that. He withdraws his hand and offers a quick smile before settling in his car, a travel mug of Hannibal’s strong coffee beside him. 

He drags on his seatbelt, puts the key in the ignition, flicks on his headlights and drives away from Hannibal, keeping his mind carefully on his dogs who are waiting for him.


End file.
